


High Sticking

by InsaneTrollLogic



Series: Hockey!verse [12]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sports, ECHL, Gen, Hockey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-22
Updated: 2014-03-22
Packaged: 2018-01-16 15:09:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1351927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsaneTrollLogic/pseuds/InsaneTrollLogic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur and Morgana are the Reggie and Cheryl Miller of hockey, Merlin keeps accidentally wounding his own teammates and somehow the Great Dragon coaches.</p>
            </blockquote>





	High Sticking

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to LJ 1/24/2012.
> 
> It seemed a bit silly to have multiple hockey verses. The stories are only loosely connected.

Arthur Pendragon is a professional athlete. He plays hockey on the Florida Everblades in an arena that is mostly full of vacationing Canadians, but he gets paid for it twice a month and the team has their own dentist and it's all brilliant.  
  
Except for the apartment that has roaches the size of fists and the fact that he works as a grocer in the off-season. It's quite a turn around from his youth, the grandiose mansion, the easy access to a hockey rink, the father that had told him on the day of his first try-out, "It's time to give up this ridiculous notion that you're going to be a successful athlete. You're perfectly suited to run the business."  
  
Uther Pendragon's company Camelot exists for the sole purpose of outfitting hockey teams with top of the line equipment. Twelve different teams in the NHL have abandoned Reebok or Bauer in their favor. Arthur could be living in the lap of luxury instead of exiled to an ECHL hockey team in Florida, his trust fund cut off.   
  
Most of the time he doesn't mind.  
  
This though, this is an affront to nature. Arthur's been on this team for three years now, three years without so much as a look at the AHL let alone the NHL and now they expected him to man the blue-line with this kid.  
  
His name is Merlin and he's fresh out of junior leagues which probably puts him at about twenty, though he looks younger. He's taller than Arthur, but only about half his weight and when he smiles he still has all his teeth. He's not going to fit in well here. This is a team built to take a beating and deliver one in return. Frankly, Arthur's surprised he managed to survive juniors. He must sweat off half his body weight every time he hits the ice.  
  
"Merlin Emrys," he says that first day in the locker room,. "You looking forward to the season? You're a winger, right? I've been a center for as long as I've played. And…"  
  
Arthur pulls his helmet on and wishes he'd opted for a model that covered his ears.   
  


***

  
Merlin is the gawkiest skater Arthur has ever seen. He's quick enough but he skates too big, his arms flailing, his stick is never under control, jumping up at awkward angles. He clips three different people in the first week's worth of practice, Arthur is the last of them, earning three stitches just left of his nose. It's not a new sort of injury. He's taken pucks to the face, had his share of brawls. Three years ago, he might have been mistake for a pretty boy, but the scar tissue has built up, thickened his skin and the scars don't fade before there's a fresh one to take its place.   
  
He does however take offense to it coming from a teammate. Merlin apologizes profusely and spends nearly four hours after practice making equipment adjustments. The next day he skates out on the ice and as far as Arthur can tell there is not a single damn thing different about his stick.  
  
But no one else takes friendly fire so Arthur figures something must have worked. Merlin ends every practice moaning about some new ailment, but in terms of actual injuries the kid is durable. The team warms up to Merlin quickly after he stops accidentally wounding them. One day after practice, Gwaine claps him on the shoulder and deems him adopted. They all wind up at a bar getting progressively more sloshed while Merlin, the only one underage, watches and squirms.  
  
Arthur doesn't remember a lot from the night, but the dull pull of the stitches in his face seems less and it's entirely possible he may have thrown an arm around Percy and declared himself king of Camelot. He's actually feeling like he this season might be something that's worthwhile.  
  
Of course, the next morning coach Kilgarrah sets the line combinations for the first game and he's skating with Merlin and Leon instead of Leon and Lancelot. "Two sides of the same coin," coach tells him, smiling without showing his teeth. "Together, you will accomplish great things."  
  
Arthur plasters on a smile and nods even though 'great things' and the ECHL don't really go hand in hand. In fact the last time Arthur thought he did anything truly great in the league, it was during a brawl at the end of last season.  
  
It's only a small consolation that Merlin leaves the coach's office looking just as bewildered as he does. He plops down in front of Arthur and says, "Coach says you're my destiny."  
  
There's a moment of complete silence and then they both break into laughter.   
  


***

  
  
This year it takes almost a whole month before the jeers start. The opposing fans always seem to pick up on it as soon as Arthur starts on any kind of run. It was worse last year, when Morgana LeFay, Arthur's half sister netted the game winning goal in the women's hockey Olympic finals, but it's still bad. He could do without guys crushing him into the boards and whispering, "You wish you played like your sister."  
  
The fans catch on almost gleeful in their taunting and Arthur is serenaded with calls of,  _Morgana, Morgana_ , every time he's moderately successful. Then, because he's Arthur, he picks a fight.   
  
"Did you ever maybe consider not getting five for fighting every time someone mentions your sister?" Merlin's voice doesn't ever have a bite after a shift on the penalty kill, but Arthur can sure as hell read frustration.  
  
"Half sister," he grumbles.   
  
"You're leading the team in PIMs on a team that has Gwaine."  
  
"Your point?"  
  
"We need you skating, Arthur." Merlin hisses back and they're both up for his next shift.  
  


***

  
  
Morgana makes a trip down from Montreal one weekend in November, sitting haughtily three rows behind the bench as she watches the game. She doesn't cheer for anyone, just watches. As Arthur heads back to intermission he sees she's started chatting with three season ticket holders, all Canadians vacationing from Montreal, no doubt basking in the glory of her past heroics. They're still chatting when Arthur skates back onto the ice to start the third and nearly forgets about the game until Merlin whacks him in the face with his stick while he clamors over the boards.   
  
They win the game.  
  
They also win the brawl that ensues after the final seconds.   
  
After, Morgana's waiting for him, looking more like she's been to a play than a hockey match. "Arthur," she says. "No stitches this time? Your hard head bust up a few fists rather than the other way around?"  
  
Arthur rolls his eyes but stops walking. Morgana takes a step forward and straightens out the collar of his shirt. "You know you're never going to get a call playing like that."  
  
He's starting to suspect he might never get a call period, but that doesn't mean he'll admit it. "Good to see you, Morgana."  
  
"Do you want me to give you breakdown of your game now, or can I buy you dinner first?"  
  
"I can buy my own dinner," Arthur protests.  
  
"I have endorsement money, little brother. It's my treat."  
  
Morgana's got a special kind of knack for finding gems and they wind up at a little hole in the wall just off Estero Bay eating a plate of best mussels he's ever tasted. It does a little to soften the blow as Morgana picks his game apart. "You let people goad you into fights. You've got enough skill so that you don't need to play dirty. I've seen handle a stick like you're fencing and half the time it seems like you're willing to lay down your life to block a shot. That's the sort of thing that gets you noticed."  
  
"Trick shots won't get me goals."  
  
"I've kept track of you for three seasons now. What you're doing now doesn't get you goals." She downs the last of her wine and signals for another glass. "And for God's sake pay attention to where that Emrys kid is on the ice. He keeps passing to the right place but since your team's largely comprised of people who've concussed themselves out of what little brain matter they had, no one notices."  
  
"Merlin?" Arthur repeats.  
  
"He's the best player on your little team. Hands down. Don't tell me you haven't realized it? Little clumsy, but that'll iron out. He's always in the right place. He bailed you out of at least three mistakes."  
  
"Three?"  
  
"At least."  
  


***

  
  
  
Morgana shows up at practice to the delight of Gwaine, suits up in one of Arthur's spare practice sweaters and puts on shooting exposition by expertly sliding the puck past Will on six consecutive tries of the break away drill. She scores her last goal by scooping the puck up on her blade and lifting it over his left blocker. She's met with cheers and good spirits but then coach decides they've had enough of the shenanigans for the day and it's back to the grind. Morgana watches the rest of the practice and stays around just long enough after to give Arthur a peck on the cheek.   
  
Merlin watches then, amusement on his face and flushes scarlet when she blows him a kiss as well. As she leaves, Merlin sidles to Arthur's side and says, "Doesn't she play for a woman's league right now? I would have thought they were in season."  
  
Morgana plays for the Montreal Stars, but what Arthur always forgets is that the woman's leagues often have two week layovers where Morgana is more likely to jet to Florida than stay and freeze if she has a few days free of practice. "They'll be going again in a few," Arthur says.   
  
"Should have asked for an autograph," Merlin mutters, shaking his head.   
  


***

  
  
After that he's watching Merlin constantly, looking for the signs Morgana mentioned. Because as much as he hates to admit it, his older sister has an eye for the game he just doesn't share. She's right. Merlin looks gawky and is careless with his stick, but he's nearly always in the right place and he knows what kind of shape the game should have. So Arthur makes some adjustments of his own. He's been focusing so long on being a bruiser, being an energy player that he's nearly forgotten the other parts. The coaches who would say, just go to the right spot and everything else will sort itself out.   
  
So he goes to the right spots, and Merlin finds him. The puck hits his stick and his blood starts singing.   
  


***

  
  
Lancelot is called up to the AHL's Norfolk Admirals the last week of November. They're all happy for him, but there's also resentment buried there, that burning question why wasn't it me. He's replace by a kid called Mordred who looks even younger than Merlin.   
  
Mordred's quiet and sullen and Arthur spends the next three games thinking the kid's probably a secret serial killer until Merlin manages to tease out the fact that he's just French Canadian, speaks with a really strong accent and is homesick. He calls Arthur a clotpole and stalks off.   
  
His anger lasts until Arthur nets a game winning goal and Merlin tackle hugs hum and they just sort of scream together because it's been a long time since a victory tasted this good.  
  


***

  
  
Merlin celebrates his twenty-first birthday when they're on the road. He's been bunking with Arthur for the later half of the season because Kilgarrah has an odd fixation with the two of them overcoming their differences to build comradery. They've got a game tomorrow so there's a curfew in effect. They're not supposed to be drinking, but at midnight, Arthur takes a bottle of rum and pours them each a glass. Merlin looks at it dubiously.   
  
"You're twenty one," Arthur says. "Not a soul alive should celebrate this birthday in the States without a drink."  
  
"I'm from Manitoba," Merlin says. "I've had a drink before. A legal one even."  
  
"And me and Morgana are from Ottawa. Doesn't matter. You're in a foreign land, embrace the local customs."  
  
He clinks their glasses and they both take a drink. When Arthur pours them another Merlin doesn't protest. An hour later, they're leaning against each other and giggling as they quote lines in time with the Star Wars marathon playing on television.   
  
"So we're friends now then?" Merlin asks.   
  
"We've been rooming together every away trip this season."  
  
"Yeah, but those were assigned at the beginning of the year."  
  
"And I could have traded."  
  
"Arthur."  
  
"Of course we're friends, Merlin."  
  
There's a long moment of silence before Merlin grins and says, "God, Coach is probably so very pleased with himself. I still remember when he first put me on your line, 'the half cannot hate that which makes him whole.' He sounds like a bad fortune teller."  
  
Arthur snorts. "He doesn't even do his math right. Doesn't he realize Leon plays on our line?"  
  
"A third cannot hate that which makes him two thirds," Merlin intones.   
  
Arthur's answering laughter echoes through the room.   
  


***

  
  
They get three days off over Christmas. Morgana comes down to spend the holidays in Florida which Arthur has never understood because palm trees don't really get him in the Christmas spirit. He puts out an invitation to the rest of the team and he winds up with Merlin, Mordred, Will and Elyan at the table as well. It's the best holiday Arthur's had in recent memory and even the Christmas card from his father which reads,  _I'll only hold your spot in the business for one more year,_  can't bring down his cheer.  
  
He crumbles the letter, throws it into the trash and comes back into his dining room to find Morgana teaching his teammates one of the bawdiest songs he's ever heard.  
  


***

  
  
Things get a bit strange in early January when Arthur's the last to leave after practice and he finds a large blue box in the empty locker room. When it cracks open, a man in a bow tie stumbles out, looking near beside himself with glee. "Arthur Pendragon!" he says, wrapping him in a tight hug. "I understand you're having a bit of a problem."  
  
"Not to be a buzz kill," drawls a red-haired girl from the door to the box, "but this doesn't look like medieval England."  
  
"We're in a locker room," a guy adds. "I can recognize the hockey smell anywhere."  
  
"But this is Arthur. Of course it's Arthur. Every inch of him, right down to the…" the man trails off, taking in Arthur's attire. "Florida Everblades T-shirt and trainers. I'm sorry, I don't think we've met."  
  
"You got the name right. Arthur Pendragon. You are?"  
  
"You can call me the Doctor. And back there is Amy and Rory and we're here about a dragon. I just assumed that between Arthur Pendragon, and an actual dragon I was going to be in Camelot but it's entirely possibly I just missed. Sorry about that. Have you by any chance seen a great big green fire breathing thing? Could be quite dangerous."  
  
The door to the locker room opens up behind them and Merlin freezes when he sees the new group. "Rory Williams?" he says. "Why aren't you in Toronto?"  
  
Rory laughs but doesn't answer. The Doctor on the other hand beams. "Merlin Emrys. It's been far too long!"  
  
"I have no idea who you are."  
  
The Doctor coughs and tugs on his bow tie. "Right. Reincarnation is always awkward. But, Merlin and Arthur! Together again! You two are destined for great things."  
  
"You're completely mad," Merlin says with wonder.   
  
"And someone in this building is a dragon. Probably hiding behind a perception, but that's not a problem. I can fix that right up, but you're going to want to call a specialist. Harry Dresden probably. I know the Winchesters are probably closer, but Dresden's had some experience with dragons."  
  
"Don't worry," Merlin replies sarcasm dripping off his voice. "Me and Arthur here have got plenty of hockey sticks and stake blades. Think we can handle a dragon."  
  
"Really? Fantastic! Arthur and Merlin. Stuff of legends, this. I can do away with that perception filter and we'll be on our way. I don't like dragons. Always trying to burn my coat." He produced a silver thing with a glowing green tip from his coat and pressed a button. "Right. Amy, Rory, time to go."  
  
"Anywhere but Lake Placid again. I love that game, but we've already been three times."  
  
Arthur's still gaping as a minute later, the blue box in front of them disappears. Beside him, Merlin looks just as gob smacked. "You know, this actually makes me worried they weren't kidding about the dragon."  
  


***

  
They weren't kidding about the dragon.  
  
"You two have a great destiny," Kilgarrah proclaims. "It was mine to ensure you were on the right path."  
  
"Oh God!" Merlin screams, waving his stick in front of him like it will be any deterrent to something that can breathe fire. "Slay it already, Arthur!"  
  
"How am I supposed to slay a dragon? I need a sword or something."  
  
"My time here has past," Kilgarrah says. "You are finally on the right path. Together you will accomplish great things. I can no longer stay here to guide you."  
  
The air currents caused by his massive wings are enough to knock Arthur off his feet. Merlin remains standing, an odd gold glint in his eyes. "This is probably the strangest moment of my entire existence."  
  
"Can't be," Arthur quips. "Remember my father marrying the troll?"  
  
Both of them blink at each other for a minute and then Merlin shakes his head. "I'm wrong. This moment is much stranger."  
  


***

  
  
Two weeks later, King Arthur and the warlock, Merlin both get the call up to the Everblade's AHL affiliate. They don't go back down.


End file.
